


All for One

by ANobleCompanion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Historical AU, M/M, Three Musketeers AU, minor depictions of violence, sword fighting and sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANobleCompanion/pseuds/ANobleCompanion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year was 1625.  The Holy Roman Empire was being torn apart in a religious war, factions of demons facing off against their angelic foes, each side using creatures of the supernatural to aid their cause.  In France, Louis the XIII sat on the throne.  Everyone knew he was a weak king, dependent on his top Cardinal for advice. Though the King supported the beliefs of the angels, there were whispers and rumors that the Cardinal’s sympathies lay instead with the demons to the north. As the war raged on along the eastern borders, showing no signs of easing, the chaos of the war began to find its way into France; the horrors of these monsters held at bay only by an elite force: Hunters.  The best of the best.  They were known as The Musketeers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All for One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Guu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guu/gifts).



> Feliz Navidad, Guu!!!

_The year was 1625.  The Holy Roman Empire was being torn apart in a religious war, factions of demons facing off against their angelic foes, each side using creatures of the supernatural to aid their cause.  In France, Louis the XIII sat on the throne.  Everyone knew he was a weak king, dependent on his top Cardinal for advice. Though the King supported the beliefs of the angels, there were whispers and rumors that the Cardinal’s sympathies lay instead with the demons to the north. As the war raged on along the eastern borders, showing no signs of easing, the chaos of the war began to find its way into France; the horrors of these monsters held at bay only by an elite force: Hunters.  The best of the best.  They were known as The Musketeers._

 

The earliest memory Kevin had was his father, Carver, telling him of his adventures as a musketeer while Kevin sat enraptured at his feet in front of the hearth.  For as long as he could remember, his father had told him that one day, he too would be a musketeer.  

When he turned twelve, his father showed him the tablet for the first time.  It was ancient.  “It’s been in our family for at least ten generations,” Carver said, looking at Kevin, seriousness radiating from his normally affable face.  “Look and tell me what you see.”  

Kevin looked, but all he could make out were strange markings that he could neither make heads nor tails of.  He was proud of his ability to read not only French, but Latin and German as well. It frustrated Kevin that there were words in front of him he could not interpret.  

Carver smiled wryly at his son’s clear irritation.  “Don’t worry, Kev.  I didn’t expect you to be able to read it yet.  You’re still too young.  One day you will know what it says.  You will not need to learn the language.  It is born in you.  When you can read it, that’s when you will be ready to join the musketeers.  It will be your sacred duty to carry the words to them.  They will need you and you will become one of the most important amongst their ranks.”

“Can you read it, Father?”

“I could, once.  The words have changed now.  Altered for you, and for the message that youmust use to protect the kingdom.”

After that, Kevin pulled the tablet out every year on his birthday, trying to see if he was ready yet, impatient for the day to finally arrive.  He trained daily with Carver.  They practiced everything from sword fighting, to archery, to hand to hand.  Carver was also insistent that Kevin focus on his studies.  

“A musketeer needs to use his brain as much as his brawn.  The best strategy will always be to seek out danger and outwit it before a fight ever becomes required.  A fight will  _always_ involve a cost and you can’t necessarily predict what it will be ahead of time.”

So Kevin studied.  He learned the lore of every known creature.  He could recite their habits, their weaknesses and their strengths in his sleep.  And still he could not read the tablet.  

When Kevin was seventeen, his father was killed. Kevin and his mother, Linda, had been at the market.  Kevin wouldn’t normally have accompanied his mother, preferring to stay at home with his books.  His father however had been insistent that Kevin go, claiming part of Kevin’s studies should include observing the interactions between the people and understanding the workings of a simple village.  Kevin had privately thought the exercise futile.  He much preferred working on his studies at the family farm, away from the villagers, whose greatest goal in life were to sell enough crops to buy a new cow.  

When Linda and Kevin returned, Carver was nowhere to be found, but there were clear signs of a struggle and an ominous blood trail leading to the woods.  As the months passed, Kevin came to accept his father had been killed, though by whom or what, neither he nor his mother knew.  Linda, for her part, became fierce in the protection of their land, working twice as hard to ensure their holding.  Kevin threw himself more deeply into his studies, trying to find any hints as to what might have come for his father.  

He sometimes thought about Carver’s insistence that Kevin go with his mother that day.  Had he somehow known that something would be coming?  Had his father seen or expected the attack?  

When his eighteenth birthday arrived, Kevin went to the old wooden trunk where the tablet was stored out of habit more than any belief that he would finally be able to read it.  He pulled it out and set it on the table.  It was nearing sunset, so Linda opened the western-most windows on the house to let in as much light as possible before going to sit next to Kevin, watching him expectantly.  

Kevin looked at the tablet, almost dismissively at first, when a word jumped out at him

 _War_.

Kevin did a double take, looking at the engravings in the stone more closely.  The letters were still the same indecipherable shapes they had always been.  And yet…

Kevin let his eyes relax and drift.  On the edges of his vision, as though he was reading out of the corner of his eye, words started to take shape.  Something must have shown on his face, because Linda was suddenly grasping his upper arm and looking at him expectantly.  

He looked at her, eyes full of surprise, confusion, excitement and fear.  

He was starting to understand the tablet.  

* * *

 

Kevin had always thought that when he finally gained the ability to read the tablet that it would be just like reading anything else and the words would come with ease.  The truth was anything but this expectation.  

It took him another month to fully translate.  Kevin did little else.  Unfortunately, fall was progressing rapidly and the days were growing ever shorter.  Kevin burned through dozens of candles as he worked through the night, forgoing sleep and often meals.  Vaguely, he saw his mother’s concern, but couldn’t focus on anything but the tablet.  In the few moments he did surrender to sleep, it haunted him, pulling him out of his dreams and back to the table where he worked.  

When he had finished, he was sure he had read the words wrong.  Surely what was in front of him couldn’t be true.  Was this what he was supposed to prevent?  How could he be expected to do that?

Kevin reworked the calculation on the date one more time, but the information didn’t change. Everything pointed to the winter solstice - only a scant three weeks away.

He wasn’t sure what he would actually be able to do to halt what was coming. He knew though, his father had been right. He had read the tablet and it was clear that now was when he would finally take his place among the musketeers.

* * *

 

Dean looked around at the hustle and bustle of the city surrounding him. A small group of bar wenches he recognized from Ellen’s establishment passed by whispering amongst themselves, shooting glances in his direction. He flashed them a toothsome smile, aware he cut a handsome figure, even out of his uniform. Sure enough, the whispers dissolved into giggles and blushes. Dean let the sound wash over him.  He wasn’t interested in the high pitched twittering of the girls in front of him, attractive as the package might be. As always, he found himself scanning the crowd, looking for a pair of piercing blue eyes, never fully conscious he was doing so.

His mind wandered as he thought about his best friend. In many ways, Cas was still a mystery. They’d met many years prior, before any of them had joined the elite group of hunters that protected the kingdom from the creatures that strayed over the border from the Germanic kingdoms that made up the Holy Roman Empire. In those days, Dean and Sam were still living on the family farm.  Dean’s primary duties had included getting up at the crack of dawn to muck out the stables and feed the horses.  

As he did every morning, Dean went straight to his own horse, Impala, first.  He had almost reached the stall when there was an abrupt movement in the loft above him. Before he could take another step, a figure had dropped in front of him, a scowl on his face and a short blade in his hand.   

"Woah, buddy!" Dean said  raising his own hands placatingly.  He looked around for anything nearby he could use as a weapon.  "Just who the hell are you?" Dean asked, because really, this was his barn after all - or his family’s at least.  

"Castiel," the young man in front of him growled out, his voice issuing forth deep and gravelly.  

Dean gestured to the blade in his hand, an eyebrow raised.  ”You mind putting your weapon down and explain why you’re here?  I’m not gonna hurt you, just looking for some answers.”  

Cas had explained that he had left his home, though he didn’t elaborate on the circumstances - only that he couldn’t go back, but that he likewise had no place to go.  He had offered to work in exchange for continued lodgings in the barn.  Instead, the Winchester clan had opened their home to him and Dean and Cas had been inseparable ever since.  They had joined the musketeers together, Sam following along four short years later at their father’s insistence.

Lost in his reminiscence, Dean didn’t see the young boy dart into the street in front of him until they collided hard, both falling backwards into the dirt.

"The hell!?" Dean groused, irritated with himself as much as the boy.  He was a musketeer, damnit. He shouldn’t be falling all over himself in the streets.  It was embarrassing.

The boy, Dean pegged him to be around seventeen or eighteen, bounced back up to his feet, anger and irritation clear on his face.  ”Watch where you’re going, fool.”  

Dean’s eyebrows reached his hairline as he stared at the boy in surprise.  ”Did you just call me a fool? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

"A klutz who can’t seem to use the eyes in his face for their intended purpose?" The kid shot back.

Well, now he was just pissed.  ”I’ve killed people for a lesser insult, kid.  Watch your tongue and know your place.”

"Perhaps you should know yours. I seriously doubt you would be able to lay a blow on me no matter how hard you tried."

Dean could feel his frown turning into a feral grin.  ”Well, I’m not one to back down from a challenge and that there? That sounded like a challenge.  A duel then?”  

The boy nodded, in affirmation.  “Gladly, but you see, I have an appointment at the moment that I can’t miss.  Perhaps we can schedule this for later in the day?  Say one o’clock?”

Dean nodded, “Fine, I’ll meet you at one at the fountain in the square in front of the palace. Don’t forget to bring a second. I want someone to witness your humiliation.”

The boy nodded and turned smartly on his heel and walked briskly in the opposite direction.  Dean turned too, now seeking out those blue eyes in earnest; after all, he would be required to have a second too.  

* * *

 

As usual, Sam had his nose buried in a book.  If he’d had his way, he would have joined a monastery early on and devoted his life to studying.  His father refused to hear of it, however, convinced that his sons had a greater purpose and responsibility to serve as musketeers.  After all, John had been a musketeer too and considered it to be the family business.  

Sam’s greatest consolation was the library maintained by the musketeers.  Books were generally hard to come by and the headquarters of the musketeers had the largest collection in all of France.  It was rumored to be even larger than the libraries in Rome.

Almost all of the books focused on the lore of the beasts and monsters the musketeers would be expected to face, but Sam didn’t mind.  He absorbed the knowledge like a sponge.  He was a more than capable fighter as well of course, Captain Bobby had seen to that, but this was what he preferred; finding a way to use the knowledge he learned to fight smarter, more efficiently, rather than just with brute strength.

He supposed that in the long run, he was happy with where his life had brought him.  He was near his brother and Castiel, who had been part of their family for so long now, Sam considered him a second brother.  He had his books and had not, in the end, had to give up his learning.  He also found, to his surprise, a certain level of satisfaction in protecting people.  He was good at his job and he was proud of the position which he had earned himself.  

That hadn’t helped his relationship with his father though.  When it had come his turn to join the musketeers, Sam had nearly walked out of the house in protest, refusing to fall in line the way Dean had.  Dean had always been his father’s little soldier, obeying without question.  Sam had never quite been able to do that.  Dean swore it was because Sam and John were just too much alike. Now years later, Sam was willing to concede that Dean was probably right, but at the time, it had only made him more angry.  Even though Sam had become a musketeer, more because of his brother’s pleading than his father’s edict, that fight had broken their relationship beyond mending.  Sam hadn’t spoken to his father again until shortly before his death five years later.  

Sam’s gaze refocused on the page in front of him, pulling him out of the past.  He realized he didn’t have the slightest clue what he had just read.  He sighed and resigned himself to starting again.  

"Need any help?"

Sam looked up, confused, and realized he had stopped in the middle of the road.  ”Oh, I’m sorry,” he said and moved aside to let the person he was blocking pass.  It was a dark haired boy, about eighteen.  

"Sure you can handle that?" the boy said, nodding at the book in Sam’s hands.  

Sam frowned.  ”What do you mean?”

"Well, you were concentrating pretty hard there you know.  Just staring at the words isn’t going to make you suddenly understand how to read.  It takes practice, patience and no small level of intelligence."

Sam felt a bright flash of anger.  After his father, he was easily riled whenever someone questioned his intelligence.  His temper was usually slower than Dean’s, but it tended to burn longer.  

"I have no problem reading, thank you very much.  It would serve you well to know your audience before jumping to conclusions."

"Ah, so now I should take advice from an oaf who can’t read and walk forward at the same time?  It’s alright to admit to a weakness you know,  there’s nothing shameful about that."

Now Sam was truly angry.  

"I cautioned you once.  Do not insult my intelligence again, kid.  I assure you, I know more than you, and likely know more in more languages that you can even comprehend, though unlike you, I won’t make that assumption. Beware your pride,  it might well prove to be your downfall someday in the near future."

"Perhaps, but it won’t be today, and certainly won’t be from you," the boy said.  

"Someone who considers himself to be so intelligent surely wouldn’t turn down the opportunity for a lesson.  Shall I teach you how a scholar fights?"

"I will gladly teach you precisely that, but i’m afraid you’ll have to wait until this afternoon.  You see, I have another imminent appointment.  Shall we meet at the fountain in square in front of the palace, say, half past one?"

Sam’s eyes flashed steel.  ”I’ll see you there.”

* * *

 

Castiel looked at the array of choices in the stall in front of him, his forehead furrowed in concentration.  There were pasties, meat buns, and rolls, as well as a host of other delectable looking edibles, but Cas didn’t see what he was looking for.

       “Excuse me, but I can’t seem to find any pie,” he asked, trying to make sure he kept his voice even and polite.  Dean had often told him most people found his mannerisms off-putting.  Despite knowing this, and despite having been friends with Dean for fifteen years now, Cas still found attempting to fit in perplexing and exhausting.  He preferred the company of just Dean or even Sam, where he didn’t have to worry about being anyone but himself.  

“We’re out of pie, mister.  Should’a come this morning when they were fresh.   Tha’s when I have ‘em.  Run out quick.” The vendor didn’t spare a glance in Cas’s direction, his tone brusk and clearly irritated at being asked to assist.  

Cas’s frown deepened.  “That’s unacceptable.  I need pie.”  

The vendor looked up at him now, eyes meeting Castiel’s from beneath big bushy eyebrows.  Castiel’s own gaze pierced back.  He could hold his own when it came to eye contact.  

“Oh for the love of all things holy,” a young voice said from behind.  “The man said he doesn’t have any pie.  Either purchase something else, or move along, you’re holding up hungry customers.”

Surprised, Cas turned around slowly to take in the form of a young boy.  

“I don’t believe you are involved in this particular conversation.  My concern is with the owner of this cart, not with you.”

The boy sighed, the sound heavy and put-upon.  “Yeah, but the man already said he doesn’t have any more pie.  It’s not like he can produce it out of thin air, so either buy something else or move along.  You’re keeping me from my lunch.”

       “Your continued persistence is only delaying your own ability to order lunch.  Had you minded your own business, I could have rationally discussed with this man how I might go about getting a pie, whether now, later, or from another location.  Therefore I don’t understand your continued insistence at interrupting our exchange.”

       At this point, the vendor had had enough.  “Look, yer both holdin’ up m’line and I don’t feel like serving either one of ye.  Get yer food somewhere else.”

       Castiel and the boy stepped out of the line, both glaring at each other.  Cas wasn’t surprised when the boy broke his gaze first.  Dean had often told him he had an “unnatural intensity” when he stared at other people.

       “You have now prevented me in getting pie.  Unless you have a suggestion as to where I might obtain some, I suggest you make yourself scarce.  You’ve not put yourself high on my list of favorite people today.”

       “What is it with you and pie?  It’s just  _pie_ ,” the boy muttered impudently.

       “It wasn’t for myself, it was a gift for a friend, now you have delayed me and I still don’t have a pie.”

       “Get over it.  Just get your lady friend some cake instead.”

       Cas wasn’t sure whether it was the assumption that the pie was for a friend of the female orientation or the boy’s unapologetic attitude, but suddenly his limited patience snapped and he found himself pressing the youth against the building behind him by the throat.  “It can only be pie.  And I’ve grown tired of your insolence.  It seems you need to be taught some manners.”

       “Over  _pie_?” the boy asked incredulously, his voice thin around Castiel’s grip.  “Sure, whatever, but it will have to wait till later.  Thanks to you, I don’t have time for lunch now and I have another meeting to get to first.  Why don’t we meet around two o’clock at the fountain in the square in front of the palace?”

       Castiel narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if it was a trick and the boy was simply using the delay to get out of the duel.  If he had any honor, he would show up.  Cas nodded his assent and let the boy go.

       Never one to leave loose ends, he had one final question before the boy was out of his sight.

       “What’s your name?”

       The boy looked at him and tilted his chin up, “Kevin.”                

* * *

       It took him another hour, but Dean finally spotted an unruly head of dark hair bobbing in the crowd ahead of him.

       “Cas! Cas, wait up, buddy!”

      The head stopped and turned and Dean saw one of his favorite faces.  He felt his own face split into a wide grin, mirrored to a lesser degree on Cas’s.  It was rare Cas indulged in a full smile and never in public.  The expression he was giving Dean now was for Dean alone and Dean treasured it.

       “Hello, Dean.”

       “Where’ve you been, Cas?  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

       “I was attempting to purchase – foodstuffs – in the market, but they’d already sold the provisions I needed.”

       Dean raised his eyebrows, unsure of what Cas could need in the market that they couldn’t get back at headquarters.  The mess hall was known for its amazing fare.  The head cook was a retired musketeer himself and he ran a well-ordered kitchen that only turned out the finest.  No one questioned Benny and his food.  Aside from being an excellent cook, a wrong word tossed in his direction might find you on the business end of a sword.  Benny wasn’t in his prime anymore, but he could still pose a fairly significant threat when his food was insulted.  

“Well, I’m glad I found you.  I need a second.”  

Surprised flashed briefly across Cas’s face, followed by mild amusement. “I was going to ask you the same.”  

Dean looked more closely at Cas and realized that his friend did indeed look ruffled under the edges, his usually implacable calm bent.

“ _You?_  You’re involved in a duel?”  It wasn’t that he thought Castiel wouldn’t do well in a duel.  Quite the opposite in fact.  There was no one better than Castiel in all France when it came to fighting with a blade.  No one in Paris was stupid enough to challenge him. Aside from that, Cas rarely interacted with people outside the musketeers long enough to offend anyone, which could only mean…

“Wait, did you call the challenge?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel replied patiently.  ”The boy was excessively irritating and prevented me from completing my objective.”

“And you thought that warranted a duel?”

Castiel didn’t answer directly.  Instead he narrowed his eyes shrewdly and looked at Dean.  “And what great complaint resulted in your challenge?”

Dean smirked.  “Pretty much the same thing.  But everyone expects that from me.  You’re the calm collected one.  I can’t remember a time when you called for the duel.”

Cas huffed a small laugh.  “As always, your double standards for our behaviour baffles me.  So will you be my second or not?”

Dean rolled his eyes.  Did Cas really think he might say no? Before he could answer, a large hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.  Dean knew that hand and looked back, unsurprised.  

“Dean, Cas,” Sam said, greeting his brothers with a tight smile.  “I need your help with a small task this afternoon.”  

“Sure man, what is it?” Dean asked, curiosity peaked.  Usually Sam was neck deep in lore texts and rarely asked for Dean’s help.  Sometimes he roped Cas into whatever it was he was researching because Cas had an insanely good grasp on languages and Sam needed him to translate something.  

“Well, I might have lost my temper earlier today. In any case, I have a duel at half past one and I need a second.”  

Dean looked at his brother and best friend in bemusement.  “Was there something in the turducken Benny fixed last night?”

Sam scrunched his face up in a way that made him look like a confused puppy.  “Dean, what are you talking about?”

“Cas and I both have duels today too.  I’m at one -”

“And mine is at two o’clock…”

“By the fountain in front of the castle?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Dean and Cas responded simultaneously.  

“Wait,” Dean turned and looked at Cas, “You said your duel was against a boy.  What did he look like?”

Castiel frowned as he pulled forth the memory. “He appeared to be about eighteen years old, pale skin and messy black hair.  He said his name was Kevin.”

“Huh, I didn’t bother with a name, but sounds like the same kid. What about you, Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname, but nodded nonetheless. “Sounds like my opponent as well.  Do you think he realizes he’s just challenged the three best musketeers still in active service?”

“Doubtful.  I am sorry guys.  But it looks as though I’ll be the only one fighting today.  Seeing as how he’s not going to be capable of making your appointments after dealing with me,” said Dean with a shit eating grin.  

Sam snorted inelegantly.  “Yeah, we’ll see see.  At the least it should be good entertainment.” Sam turned away from his brother, shaking his head good naturedly. “So logistically, I’ll be Dean’s second, Cas, you can be mine, and presuming Dean’s still alive, he can be yours.”  

Castiel nodded in confirmation.  Dean just shrugged as though the seconds were insignificant in light of this new information.  

“Hey, like Sammy said, at least it should be good entertainment.”

* * *

 

After his encounter with the oversensitive pie patron, Kevin tried to make his passage to the headquarters of the musketeers somewhat less conspicuous.  He felt in his pocket for the letter of introduction his mother had given him.  Before he died, Carver had written the letter and entrusted it to Linda.  It explained Kevin’s heritage and his role in the history of the order.  

It was just shy of noon now.  If he presented his letter, he should be able to make an appointment with Cardinal Crowley, the official head of the musketeers.  The position was traditional.  Crowley himself had never been a musketeer, but as the second highest figure in the land, outranked only by the king, the musketeers fell under his jurisdiction.  

Before long, Kevin found himself facing a set of wrought iron gates inlaid with the symbol of the musketeers, a pentagram in the center of the sun.  They were manned by two guards wearing the traditional grosset and dunlap uniform.  

“I’d like to make an appointment with Cardinal Crowley,” Kevin said to the thinner guard to his right.

The man looked gangly and underdeveloped, almost as though he were made entirely of knees, but Kevin supposed he must be a good fighter if he was a member of the musketeers, and he knew better than to take his appearance for granted.  

The guard looked down his slightly oversized nose at Kevin and smirked.  “You would, now would you?  I reckon lot’s of folks would like to see the Cardinal about something or other.  Doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen, kid.”  

The guard to their left shot a sharp look in their direction, his face unreadable as the gate cast a shadow over his features.  

"What makes you think the Cardinal would waste his time with a nobody like you?"

Kevin bristled.  ”I’m here to join the musketeers.  I have a letter of introduct-“

The second guard stepped out of the shadows as he reached for the letter Kevin held out.  Kevin had a brief impression of dark skin tone, muscular build and a strong, stern face before he registered that his letter was being torn to shreds in front of him. His heart stopped.  This wasn’t was supposed to happen.

"Hey now, Gordon.  That’s not necessary…" the first guard said.

"Garth, you mind your own business.  There’s no way the Cardinal would see this little pig farmer. We don’t need his kind among us."

"My father was a musketeer!" Kevin protested, outraged.  

The guard, Gordon, laughed in his face.  ”Yeah, I’m sure he was kid.”

"I have a letter of introduction! You’re supposed to grant me entrance, at least let me talk to the Captain.  I have something the Cardinal needs to see!"

"I don’t see a letter of introduction, do you Garth?"

Garth looked apologetically at Kevin.  “I’m sorry, kid, but if both guards don’t agree, we can’t open the gates.  Those are the rules.”

Kevin backed away, stunned.  He had trained his whole life to be a musketeer.  He’d spent years studying, practicing, just for today.  He was an excellent student.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

What was he supposed to do now? He’d lost his letter and he could hardly expect anyone else to pay him any more mind than the guards had without it.  

Kevin felt a surge of anger run through him.  From somewhere behind him, church bells chimed the time - a quarter to one.   He smiled a grim smile of satisfaction.  At least he had a means to vent his frustration.  

* * *

 

Cas watched Dean anxiously.  It wasn’t that he thought his friend couldn’t easily win the upcoming duel - Dean was among the best of the best and the only one he knew who could genuinely give him a challenge in a swordfight - but Dean was rash and tended towards overconfidence.  It would only take one wrong move, one moment of distraction for Dean to be hurt.  And Cas couldn’t tolerate that.  

Cas supposed he had been taken in by all the Winchesters.  John, for his part, treated Cas with tolerance and at least allowed him a roof over his head even if he had never been warm or open.  He knew Sam considered him a second brother, a feeling gladly returned.  Dean, however, had always been more than that.  He was Castiel’s best friend and ally, and more recently, something else Cas was hesitant to put a name to.  All he knew for certain was an overwhelming need for Dean to be safe and happy.  

The object of Castiel’s thoughts sent him a wide, anticipatory grin.  All three had changed into their uniforms, Dean insisting the intimidation factor alone should help skew the fight to their advantage.

“Less than ten minutes to go, wanna take bets as to whether the kid actually shows up?”    

Sam piped up from behind them, “He’d better.  I’d hate to have to hunt him down.”

“Yeesh, Sammy, what did he do to you, insult your hair?” Dean asked, still grinning.

“Dean,” Cas started, his voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry to Sam. “Please promise you will be careful.  I don’t doubt your ability to win this fight…”

Dean didn’t let Cas finish before speaking, his voice lowered to match Castiel’s, “Don’t worry, man.  I know to watch my steps.  And I know I have you and Sammy watching my back in case the kid tries something underhanded.” His face softened as he noted Cas’s tightened expression.  “I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.”

Castiel quirked an eyebrow, clearly indicating he would believe it when he saw it.  

He knew Dean better than anyone else, including Sam.  Even though Dean could probably say the same for Cas, there were things Cas had never told Dean.  About his past, about where he had come from.  No matter what Castiel might feel towards Dean beyond brotherhood and friendship, it could never be more than that, because Dean trusted Cas with his life, and Cas couldn’t tell him the whole truth about who he was.  

“So you’re all here together, good.  That will make this easy,” a familiar voice said from behind Castiel.  

Castiel turned and saw the boy from earlier.  He didn’t seem to be the same person.  His entire demeanor had shifted from arrogance to hardened anger.  Everything about him screamed a warning to Cas’s senses and he put a restraining hand on Dean’s arm when he felt his friend begin to move forward.  

Kevin’s eyes narrowed as he took in their uniforms.  “So you’re all musketeers, huh?  Good.  Not too happy with you guys as a whole right now.”  

Dean tensed under Castiel’s hand; Cas understood why.  Dean loved being a musketeer.  He was proud of his position and the respect it earned, but more than that, Castiel knew how much it meant to Dean to be a part of something that worked for the greater good.  Cas knew Dean would still do the job even without the fame and accolades, even if he himself were shunned for doing what had to be done to make the world safe.  It was one of the many things Castiel loved about him.  

“Well, you know what they say about us musketeers right?  You got a problem with one of us, you’ve got a problem with all of us.”  

Kevin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I know the motto.  All for one and all that crap.  Look, I don’t really have the patience to deal with you guys one at a time.  So why don’t we get this over with?”

Castiel saw the surprise he felt mirrored on Sam’s face. “You want to fight all of us?  At once? Do you really know who you’re fighting?”

“A clutz, an oaf, and a moron who doesn’t understand the concept of ‘move along.’  I’ve done nothing but train for this my whole life.  I don’t think you’ll be much of a challenge.”

With that, he lunged forward towards Cas, rapier already drawn, only to meet with a clash of metal against metal as Dean blocked the blow.

“First rule in a fair fight, you don’t attack when your opponent hasn’t yet drawn their weapon.  In battle? Fine, protect your ass.  Now?  You’ve just pissed me off.  Cuz that guy there? He’s my best friend, and you just played dirty.”  

“Dean!” Castiel called sharply.  This was exactly the kind of rash behavior Castiel had been afraid of.  

It soon became apparent that Kevin had not been bragging heedlessly about his skills.  He was still no real match for Dean, but he was  _good_.  Castiel stepped back to watch.  He knew Dean wouldn’t actually hurt the boy, but it would be interesting to gauge his measure.  Someone with that outright skill should be one of them, not fighting them.  

Dean seemed to think the same thing and began tailoring his moves to challenge Kevin, stretching him to see exactly what he was capable of.  

“Who  _are_  you, kid?” Dean asked, admiration trickling into his voice against his will.  

Kevin gritted his teeth, starting to show signs of fatigue, but clearly unwilling to give in.  “Kevin.  But if you’re asking where I learned to fight?  My father.  Carver Edlund.”  

Dean dropped his stance, shocked.  It was enough that Kevin’s next blow effectively sliced Dean’s upper arm.  

“ _Dean_!” The cry came from Sam and Cas both as they rushed in.  The change in situation was so sudden, Kevin just stopped, stunned, rapier still raised defensively.  

Dean hissed as he gripped his upper arm, “Well, that was stupid,” he said ruefully to Sam, who reached him first, Cas right behind.  

As the two fussed over Dean, Dean himself looked back to Kevin, frowning.  “Your father was Carver Edlund?  The prophet?”

Kevin frowned in return, his chin tilting up defensively, “Yeah, I guess you’ve heard of him then?”

“Heard of him?  Dude, he’s a legend.  Fought with our father,” Dean tilted his head back to include Sam.

“Your father?” Kevin asked, his voice laced with surprise.  

Cas looked up to observe the exchange silently while he pressed a clean cloth firmly against Dean’s injury.  He dearly wished he could heal Dean here and now, but that would be neither appropriate nor wise.  He would have to wait until Dean was asleep or not paying attention and help him recover miraculously quickly. The brothers had often joked about Dean’s astonishing healing powers.  All Dean seemed to need to recover from something was a good, deep sleep.  

“Yeah, John Winchester.  I’m Dean, Sam, and this is Castiel - Winchester by right if not by birth.”

Cas felt something warm in his chest at Dean’s words.

“ _You’re_  Winchesters?” Kevin finally dropped his rapier point and relaxed his stance.  “Damn, I grew up on stories of your dad.”  

“Why the hell are you fighting us?  You should be one of us,” Dean said in confusion.

“If your father was the prophet, that means you should be carrying on his tradition, naturally serving in the ranks,” Castiel added, his head tilted to the side as he studied Kevin.  

“I  _tried_ , I’ve just come from the headquarters.  I have - had - a letter of introduction, but one of the guards tore it up.  But the thing is, I’ve read the tablet.  I know what’s coming and the Cardinal needs to be told.”

Cas exchanged a dark look with Dean and Sam.  The three of them had had several discrete discussions well outside the city limits dealing with their concerns about the Cardinal and his latest policies.  

Cas turned to Kevin.  “You’re right, you need to see the Cardinal to officially become a musketeer.  In this particular instance, your inability to do so, might be for the best.”

Kevin visibly bristled before Cas continued.  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t join the musketeers; from what we’ve seen, you would be a valuable asset.  But there are more…politics…at play than you might imagine.”

Castiel ran his free hand through his hair and huffed in irritation.  There was very little they could explain within the city walls.  Crowley had eyes and ears everywhere.  He turned to Sam and Dean.  “I think we need to take a walk to discuss this further.  If he has indeed read the tablet, he might be in danger.”  He gently pressed Dean’s arm, “And I want a chance to get this tended to properly before too long.”   

Sam and Dean nodded their assent and Dean canted his head over his shoulder.  “C’mon kid, we’re gonna go have a nice long chat, get everyone caught up.”

“Where are we going?” Kevin asked as he jogged to catch up with the three musketeers ahead of him.  

Sam smiled down at him, “The bunker.”

* * *

 

_On the first day of the season of death,_

_When the kings of the plains have ruled for six and thirty years._

_War will come to the land of the Hammer,_

_Lead by those who need no breath._

_Poisoned from within,_

_The crown no longer holds sway._

_The foe, met at a crossroads,_

_Seeks to be king among both demon and men._

Sam read the translation Kevin had provided for a third time while Cas carefully banaged Dean’s arm.  Dean felt a warmth flow through him at his friend’s touch, but he resolutely ignored it.  He couldn’t deny that Cas’s mere presence made any ache or pain seem distant.  Dean always felt more  _whole_  when Cas was around and Dean knew there was more to their relationship that just that of brother or friend - at least on his end.  He had never had any indication Cas felt the same, so he kept those thoughts to himself.  Now, he turned his attention to the prophecy, and whatever it was they were supposed to be figuring out from this gibberish.

“What the heck is all that supposed to mean exactly?  In French this time, please.”

Sam took a deep breath as though he was about to explain when Kevin jumped in.  

“I’m not sure about all the details.  But from what I can tell, someone is going to threaten France on the Winter Solstice of this year - someone close to the crown.”

Dean frowned. “And how do you get that?”

“Well, the Winter Solstice part is easy - that’s the “first day of the season of death,” marking the beginning of the coldest time of the year, even if the solstice itself is a symbol rebirth.

Dean nodded, and waved the hand not attached to the arm currently being tended to.

“The second line refers to the Bourbon royal family; ‘the kings of the plains’ is most likely talking about their origins as the rulers of Navarre, or the Plains.   _This_  year marks their thirty-sixth year controlling France.”

“How do we even know this prophecy is about France?  I mean, that whole line is based on an assumption.”

“Not really. ‘The land of the Hammer,’ most likely refers to Charles Martel, or Charles the Hammer - Charlemagne’s grandfather and one of the first Kings of a unified France,” Sam supplied, eager to contribute.  

Dean snorted under his breath, “Nerds.”

Castiel frowned at him and tied the end of the bandage a little tighter than strictly necessary.  

“So that means war is coming in about three weeks time, lead by those who ‘need no breath.’ Great.  That means either angels or demons - dicks all around.”

Dean felt Castiel tense beside him slightly and glanced at his friend questioningly, but Cas just shook his head, his face clear of emotion.  

Instead, he responded to Deans comment.  “Demons most likely, based on the last lines.  ‘A foe met at a crossroads,’ sounds like a deal demon who apparently has ambitions if he wants to be king of both Hell and France.”

“And the whole, ‘poisoned from within, the crown no longer holds sway,’ yeah, that sounds like an inside job alright.” Dean ran a hand down his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.  

“Well, it doesn’t take a nerdy genius to figure out who the traitor probably is.”

Sam’s face was grim as he watched his brother.  Cas’s mouth thinned and he looked down at his hands.  Only Kevin seemed confused as he glanced around at the others in the room.  “I don’t understand.  Who is it?”

There was silence, as though none of them wanted to speak the name aloud.  As though speaking it aloud might give the name power over them and bring down the shitstorm this revelation would unveil directly upon their heads where they stood.

Finally, it was Cas that spoke.  

“Crowley.”

“ _Crowley_? As in  _Cardinal_  Crowley, second most powerful man in the land?” Kevin asked incredulously.  

Sam sighed.  “We’ve had our suspicions about him for a while now.  The war between the angels and demons has not been going in Lucifer’s favor.  There have been…suggestions…that despite Louis’s preference to either stay neutral in the war or to nominally back the angels, Crowley prefers to support the demons to the north, but he’s no friend of Lucifer’s either.  It’s well known, in Paris at least, that Crowley is the real power behind the throne.  I wouldn’t take much for him to overpower the King.  And he controls the musketeers.  While we are supposed to be the King’s guard, protecting the people from the monsters spilling over the borders, Crowley has his own special contingent loyal just to him.  I think one of the guards you met today was one of them.” He glanced over to Cas and Dean for confirmation, “Gordon was on duty today, wasn’t he?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, I told Garth to try and keep an eye on him and to let me know if he did anything particularly suspicious.  I’ll probably hear about your letter tonight, kid.  At least the Captain’s on our side.”

Captain Singer was smart enough not to shout his mouth off about his opinions, but he also knew where the wind was blowing and had created a network of loyal soldiers within the musketeers on whom he knew he would be able to rely.

Cas still looked troubled.  

“Spit it out, Cas,” Dean said.

“Based on this prophecy, the traitor is already a demon.  If we are all agreed Crowley is the traitor…”

“ _Shit_ ,” Dean spat out.  “We have a demon sitting in what is basically the most powerful position in France.  _Damn_.”

Unable to sit still any longer, Dean pushed himself off the table he’d been leaning against and stalked outside.  

He didn’t do much but pace back and forth in front of the small cabin they had dubbed ‘the bunker,’ but the motion and the fresh air helped him burn off some of his excess energy.  

Cas followed him out a short while later, saying nothing, just watching him with his characteristic stare Dean had learned to find comforting rather than odd.  

Dean wished he could grab his friend and hold him close.  This was so much bigger than anything they had faced before.  Yeah, they’d seen plenty of fights together, but this would mean not only taking on the most powerful figure in France, but likely a host of demons as well.  Not counting his fellow musketeers who would side with Crowley.  This would likely turn into a civil war and right now it was the three of them - four if they counted the kid - against the whole combined lot and he had no idea what they could do.  

Dean wanted to cling to Cas, afraid of what he might lose.  He had often teased Cas about how he never seemed to get a scratch on him.  It was as though everything just bounced off him and Dean liked to think of him as a lucky charm.  Could that luck hold against what they faced now?  

He stopped pacing and looked back at Cas, neither of them speaking.  He and Cas had been friends for more than fifteen years now, yet there was still so much Dean didn’t know about him.  For a long time, it had bothered him.  He had questioned why Castiel didn’t trust him.  Years of fighting together though, had proved to Dean beyond a doubt that Cas trusted him implicitly.  If there were things Castiel held back about his past, he had a damn good reason to and Dean no longer questioned it.  It still made him hesitate though.  

Cas walked over to him.  “We  _will_  get through this Dean, we  _will_  find a way.”  

“How, Cas?” Dean looked imploringly into twin pools of blue as though they held all the answers.

Cas’s mouth curved into a small smile, visible only at the edges.  “This is your problem, Dean.  You lack faith.  We are the best of the musketeers.  Yes, Crowley might have an army waiting in the wings, but we have knowledge and forewarning.  We can act preemptively.”  

Humor left Cas’s face and he turned his head to look off into the distance.  “I might have an ace or two up my sleeve as well should it become…necessary.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that, but knew from the tone in Cas’s voice that he wouldn’t divulge what he was thinking.  

Instead of pressing, Dean grabbed the front of Cas’s tunic and pulled him forward until their foreheads rested against each other and blue filled his entire vision.  

“Whatever happens, we  _both_  come out of this  _together_ , understand?  No stupid heroics.”

Cas’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh as he closed his eyes.  He didn’t move from the intimate position as he responded, “That’s usually my line.”  

* * *

 

The weeks passed quickly as Cas, Dean and Sam worked within the ranks of the musketeers to determine who they could count on to be loyal to them, and who would be loyal to Crowley.  Captain Singer’s network went a long way towards giving them the head start they needed to formulate a defense.  

They decided it would be safer to keep Kevin at the bunker and out of Crowley’s line of sight.  Fortunately, Kevin had not mentioned the prophecy to Gordon, or Castiel was sure Crowley would be spending vast energies hunting the boy down.  

Castiel was experiencing a personal crisis of conscience.  He knew they needed all they help they could get and if he was willing to open up his past, he was sure they could easily defeat Crowley.  But doing so meant exposing himself, not only to the past he had long ago left behind and sworn never to return to, but to Dean, Sam and the rest of his fellow musketeers as well.  Would they consider such a breach of confidence as a form of treason in its own right?  

Would the Winchesters - would Dean - shun him? Cast him from the family he had for so long considered himself a part of?  

Would the help he could provide even be welcome?  Would it make their position more vulnerable in the long run?  If he played his cards right, Cas didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be positive.  If he wasn’t positive, he wasn’t sure it was worth losing everything he found here that he held so dear.  

The decision was made for him a week before the solstice in a manner that would wake him from a deep sleep for many nights in the future.

As the date in the prophecy approached, everyone noted the upswing in the amount of supernatural activity in the country.  Woods and farmland were the most vulnerable and Captain Singer had assigned patrols of musketeers throughout the region.  By quiet agreement, only Sam, Dean and Cas patrolled the area near the bunker and it was there the ambush happened.  

If it had been just demons, they probably would have been fine.  The rawhead that accompanied them, however, skewed odds in the demons’ favor.  

Sam had already left Cas and Dean to check on Kevin when the demons made their move.  Between the two of them, Cas and Dean managed to take down six demons, leaving three and the rawhead.  Cas was dealing with the demons when he heard Dean’s cry of pain behind him.  The sound shot through Cas’s chest like an arrow, sending energy to every extremity in his body.  The feeling was pure fear.  A glance told him Dean was down, the rawhead progressing forward quickly.  Taking no time to think about himself and what the decision might mean, Castiel dropped his rapier and drew a hidden, shorter blade.  One Dean had only seen once and likely forgotten.  He grabbed one demon by the forehead, sending a concentrated push of power through his hands and destroying the monster within while simultaneously running the blade through the second demon.  He didn’t wait for either to fall before turning and gutting the final demon.  

At the flash of light Castiel had produced in vanquishing the first demon, the rawhead had paused.  Now, as Castiel stalked towards him, righteous fury clear in his eyes, the rawhead backed away from Dean.  It did him no good.  Castiel was upon him in a blink, hand to the forehead, smiting the creature until there was nothing left but a pile of thick, gelatinous, slime.  

Quickly, Cas turned to Dean’s prone form, heart caught in his throat.   _Please_ , he prayed, as he had not prayed since he left his former life behind.   _Please, let him be alright.  Don’t let him be dead_.

Cas pressed one hand against the gaping wound in Dean’s stomach as he slipped his other hand beneath his friend’s neck, cradling his head and pulling him close.  He could feel sobs threatening as he closed his eyes and prepared to unleash a healing power such as he had not had cause to do in over fifteen years.  

Just then, Dean stirred, and Cas heard a thin voice say plaintively, “Shit.  Cas, are you alright?”

Cas’s eyes flew open.  Seconds were slipping away, but Dean was awake.  Dean would see.  Dean would know.  But he couldn’t let Dean die.  It went against every fiber in his being.  

“Dean.  I’m fine.  You’re going to be fine too.  And, Dean, I’m sorry.  I’m really sorry.  I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.  I didn’t know if you would let me stay…”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said weakly.  “It’s ok.  You’re ok, right?  That’s all that matters.  Watch out for Sammy for me, ‘kay?” His eyes drifted shut again.

“ _No_ ,” Cas said forcefully and Dean’s eyes fluttered open again in surprise.  “Dean, you’re going to be fine.”

Castiel spoke as he started to let the energy flow through his fingers, as though he would be able to distract Dean from what was happening.  When he had healed Dean in the past, the injuries had been minor, or non life threatening to the point that Cas could channel his energies more slowly.  This couldn’t wait.  The light produced as a side effect couldn’t be hidden.  

“You are going to watch after Sammy.  Just like you always have.  And you’re going to lead the musketeers against Crowley.  You are going to live a long life Dean, I swear.  And I’m sorry.”

Cas watched as Dean’s eyes grew more clear as the pain receded and the wound in his belly closed, seemingly of it’s own accord.  

Cas started to mentally build walls as he saw fear enter Dean’s eyes.  Shoving his feelings into a safe corner to protect them from the rejection he knew would come.  

Sure enough, as soon as the light faded, Dean scrambled away from him, eyes wide in shock.

“The hell, Cas? What just happened?  What did you just  _do_?”

Cas spread his hands placatingly.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know…” He took a deep breath and started again.  

“I’m an angel, Dean.”

There was a heartbeat of silence where Dean and Cas just stared at each other and Castiel waited on the edge of a knife to see if his world as he knew it was over.  

The first emotion Cas saw enter into Dean’s eyes was unadulterated hurt.  It broke Castiel’s heart.  He should have told Dean long ago.  Before it had become a matter of life and death.  

Dean lurched to his feet and started walking away without another word, leaving Cas on the ground behind him, broken and trying to pick up the pieces of himself.  

About fifty feet away, Dean stopped and turned, staring at Cas with eyes that were no longer showing hurt, but were hard and cold as steel.  “Are you coming or not?”

Even if he was angry and no longer felt he could trust Cas, he was still willing to allow the angel near him.  Castiel was willing to take it.

When they reached the bunker, Dean slammed his way inside, Cas following more quietly, shutting the door behind him. Sam and Kevin, both looked up from the table, currently covered in lore books, where they had been researching.

“What happened?” Sam asked, alarm in his voice.  He jumped to his feet and ran to his brother when he saw the gash in his clothing and blood stains on his tunic.  

“Dean! Are you alright?”

Dean snorted.  “Fit as a fiddle, Sammy,” he said, his voice tight.  “Almost wasn’t, though.  We got ambushed.  Nine demons and a rawhead.  Rawhead nearly got me,” Dean paused and tilted his head.  “Actually, the rawhead  _did_  get me, but it turns out Cas here has been hiding something pretty damn major from us.”  

Sam’s eyes, still filled with fear and worry, despite being able to see Dean was fine, flew to Cas.  Dean didn’t continue, clearly waiting for Cas to tell Sam himself.  Cas forced himself to look his friend and adoptive brother in the eye as he said quietly for the second time, “I’m an angel.”

To his surprise, Sam didn’t look shocked.  He merely thinned his lips and nodded his head as though he’d had suspicions confirmed rather than his entire outlook destroyed. Dean seemed to notice the same thing.  

“Aren’t you even a little bent out of shape about this?”

“Not really, I mean, I’ve kinda suspected for a couple years now.”

“What?” the surprised response was echoed by both Dean and Cas.  

“C’mon, Dean.  All your ‘miraculous healing?’ Cas is always the one to patch you up.  He’s got an uncanny ability of being around whenever you want him, the dude barely eats, though he eats more now than when he first arrived.  Sleeps more now too.  Honestly, I thought you already knew.  And no, I’m not going to get bent of shape about it.  He just saved your damn, ungrateful life.  I’d rather thank him for that.”  

Castiel could feel his face heat as Dean’s mouth worked itself open and closed like a beached fish.  

“Fine, but he still lied to us.  For fifteen years.”  

“Dean, first of all, he’s still right here.  Second, do you really trust him any less?  How many times have you saved each other’s asses?  Have you thought about giving him a chance to explain himself first?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped as he acknowledged what his brother said.  Castiel sincerely hoped that Sam’s points rang true. Cas didn’t blame Dean if he couldn’t trust him anymore, but maybe, there was a chance Cas could earn that trust back.  

“Cas?” Sam raised an eyebrow and gestured to the chair he had recently vacated.  “Why don’t you tell us your side of the story?”

* * *

 

Sam watched as his adoptive brother sat nervously in the chair.  He could see Cas was visibly restraining himself from throwing looks in Dean’s direction.  It frustrated Sam to no end as he thought of what idiots these two could be.  That there had been something between them had been obvious for years - since before Sam had joined the musketeers even.  He was sure it was one of the reasons John had never fully accepted Castiel as one of his own sons.  

He knew his brother was hurt over finding out the truth of Castiel’s past, but Sam suspected it had more to do with the manner than the fact that Castiel was an angel.  Sam, for one, would never dare question Castiel’s loyalty to the musketeers and France if for no other reason than it would also make him disloyal to  _Dean_.  

Cas took a deep breath before starting his story.  

“I was born into an extremely strict angelic family.  One bent on gaining, keeping and controlling power.  We were raised to be soldiers.  My older brothers did it well, following every order, killing as many as it took to stay at the top.  When Lucifer pulled away from the rest of the Holy Roman Empire in rebellion, the fight took on new meaning.  Carnage became a daily cleansing.  If you refused to fight, you were considered to be supporting the enemy - on both sides.  I was tired of killing my own.  I was tired of taking orders I didn’t believe in.  I was tired of watching the innocent suffer and die.  So I left.  I ran away from all of it.  Had my family found me, or discovered what became of me, I don’t doubt they would have demanded my return and my…reconditioning…to their beliefs.  

“Our war has not remained isolated.  Angels and demons both have caused untold suffering here in France.  I was afraid if I revealed where I had come from, I would be rejected.  But here, I could do exactly what I had no opportunity to do at home - protect the weak and innocent from the fallout of war.  This was  _my_ choice,  _my_  will.  It is an incredibly rare occurrence for an angel to be born with an independent will.  Depending on the circumstances, it is viewed equally through our history as a blessing or a curse.  For me, it has certainly been both.”

Castiel fell silent and looked down at his hands as he waited for judgement to fall.  Sam looked at him pityingly, wishing he could just push Dean into admitting why he was really upset with Cas.  He knew though, trying to push Dean towards anything was the most assured way to push him in the opposite direction.  

“Well, speaking for myself, Cas,” Sam shot a glare towards Dean, “this doesn’t change anything.  You’re still my brother in every way that matters.  I still trust you with both my life and Dean’s.”

Castiel looked up, gratitude clear on his face, before it clouded again.

“There’s more.  I have been…considering…options I might be able to explore that would give us additional aid for our impending battle.  Of course, I couldn’t ask you about them without revealing my true past.  Since that decision has been taken out of my hands, I can now discuss this potential plan freely.”

Dean frowned and spoke up for the first time since before Cas had begun his story. “If we request angelic aid, that puts France right in the middle of the Empire’s battle, with half the musketeers on one side, and half on the other.  It would be a civil war, plain and simple and in the end, France would go to the winner. On top of that, from what we can tell, Crowley is looking to take over France and Hell simultaneously, ousting Lucifer in the process.  So there’s a third threat we haven’t even considered yet.”

Castiel nodded.  “That’s a valid concern, yes, but only depending on whose help we request.”

“Cas, I don’t care who you know, you’d have to have some pretty powerful strings to be able to request a small faction of the angelic army and leave the Archangels out of it.  Michael is the Holy Roman Emperor.  You don’t think he knows where his armies go?”

Cas smiled wryly, “Oh I’m fully aware Michael knows where his armies go - he’s my brother.”

Sam sucked a mouthful of air through his teeth.  He looked over at Dean to see a stunned expression he didn’t think he’d soon forget.  Kevin’s jaw was resting somewhere on the vicinity of his chest.  

“You…You’re a  _prince_? Of the  _Archangel_  family?” Sam sputtered.  

Castiel nodded.  “I’m the youngest son.  If we were to ask Michael or Raphael, not only would Dean’s prediction about a civil war come true without fail, but I would also be forced back home.  Their methods for reintegrating lost members of the flock are…intense.”

Sam watched Castiel suppress a shudder and felt his fist clench.  Prince or not, Cas was a _Winchester_  now.  Family didn’t end with blood and there was no way Cas would be taken away from them against his will.  The tightness in Dean’s jaw told Sam his brother was on the same page, even if he was still angry with Cas.  

“If we ask Gabriel, however, we might have a good chance,” Cas continued.  

“Why would Gabriel be any better?” Kevin asked.   

“Gabriel has always had something of a rebellious streak.  He would consider being able to hide his army as a challenge and a trick.   Besides, he’s always had a soft spot for humans.  Among my brothers, he is the one that argues for additional protection along the borders to prevent as much spillover into France as possible.  If it weren’t for his efforts, France would be overrun by now, with or without the musketeers.”   

Sam looked at Dean, who nodded back.  After all, it was the best option they had.  

* * *

 

Contacting Gabriel had been remarkably easy.  All Castiel had needed to do was pray to summon his brother.  

The whole affair still left a twisting sensation in the pit of Dean’s stomach.  He was sure Castiel had minimized the danger to himself when he suggested contacting Gabriel.  After all, it had been over fifteen years since the brothers had last seen each other.  Who was to say Gabriel himself hadn’t undergone this ‘rehabilitation?’

Even after meeting the angel, Dean was no more convinced Cas would be safe.  Gabriel was brash, rude and, as far as Dean could tell, self-centered. Dean refused to acknowledge his concerns centered more around Cas’s well-being than that of the country.  Just because Dean was still angry with Cas didn’t mean he wanted the angel to go anywhere. His one consolation was that it had seemed Gabriel was honestly fond of his younger brother.  

Dean honestly wasn’t sure why he was so upset.  He had always known Cas was hiding his past.  And Sam’s points had all been valid.  Dean was actually angry at not suspecting it before himself.  It was just so  _big_ _._   And angels were powerful.  Especially direct descendents of the Archangel family.  Dean must look so tiny and insignificant by comparison.  How could Cas have chosen them, chosen _him_?  And how could Dean have ever hoped for anything more beyond brotherhood and friendship?  

In the end, Gabriel had agreed to lend him a battalion of his own army.  All were angels he was sure beyond a doubt were loyal to him rather than Michael or Raphael so they needn’t worry about excessive involvement.  He also managed to identify the most likely location for the engagement.  Ironically, they staged it to take place at a crossroads, where the King’s Highway crossed with the Gypsy trail.  

Musketeers loyal to the king and angels alike camped at the crossroads on the eve of the solstice.  Normally, Dean would be sharing a tent with both Sam and Cas, but given the circumstances, Castiel had opted to bunk with his brother and Kevin had joined Sam and Dean.  On more than one occasion, Dean had left his tent to seek his friend out, twice getting as far as the entrance to Cas’s quarters, before turning back.  

They didn’t know what would happen tomorrow.  Even though Dean now knew why Cas so rarely seemed to get hurt, angels weren’t invulnerable.  The thought of never seeing Cas again, of one of them dying while Cas thought Dean was still angry with him, of Cas never knowing how Dean felt, about how much he  _needed_ Cas, burned a hole in his gut.  But Dean didn’t know what to say.  He’d never been good with words.

In the end, he wound up spending a sleepless night on his bedroll, the sick feeling he’d been battling for days tying his stomach into nervous knots.  He had never felt like this before a battle.  But he’d never been in a fight without him and Cas working in tandem.  

The dawn brought a bright clear sun and, as predicted, a demon army.  The angelic/human host had arrayed themselves so that the forest was to their backs, allowing them a place to retreat and more easily divide the enemy if needed.  Several archers were already positioned in the trees to give them the advantage of height.  The demon army marched up the open road, visible for at least two miles before they reached the camp.

The two sides met with a roar and a clash, starting with the sharp report of musket fire as the demon army approached.  As they come together at close range for hand to hand, muskets were abandoned in favor of the rapier.  Dean tried his hardest through the battle to keep his eyes not only on the demons in front of him, but also on Kevin, his brother, and of course, Castiel.  

He would have brief moments of panic when he lost sight of one or more of them for more than a minute; once distracting himself so badly he nearly missed bringing up his sword in time to block the downward swipe of a demon.  Mixed into the clanging of metal upon metal, Dean also heard the distinctive sounds of angels smiting wherever they turned.  Cas had been right.  Having the support of Gabriel’s army was making all the difference.  

As he acknowledged the thought, he glanced over at his friend.  What he saw had his heart flying to his throat.  Cas was surrounded by at least ten demons with no aid in the immediate vicinity.  With a perfunctory swipe at the head of the demon in front of him, Dean cried out, “ _Sam_!” as he threw himself towards Cas, praying he wasn’t too late.  

Sam looked in his brother’s direction and assessed the situation.  He finished off the two demons directly in front of him and then helped Kevin dispatch a particularly stubborn bastard before grabbing Kevin’s arm to pull him along as an additional reinforcement.  

By the time Dean arrived, Cas was clutching his upper arm, a thin band of light shining through his tunic.  Dean’s worried eyes met Cas’s in question.

“One of them managed to get their hands on an angel blade.  It’s the only weapon that can kill an angel,” he explained.  

Dean saw red.  Spinning, he put himself so that he and Cas were back to back.  Hopefully soon Sam would be here and could help even the odds.  Despite the exhaustion he could feel wearing down his limbs, Dean fought like a madman, determined to protect his own.  

Sure enough, it was mere minutes before Sam and Kevin were there as well.  The four of them formed a ring that worked in perfect tandem, bringing death to any demon foolish enough to step near.  Dimly, Dean heard Kevin shout, “If you mess with  _one_ of us you bastard, you mess with  _all_  of us!”

Dean laughed and shouted loud and clear, “ _All for one!_ ”

A chorus of voices, more than just those of his small group echoed back to him, “ _And one for all_!”

Stunned, Dean straightened and realized the battle was over.  He looked over to Gabriel and saw he had a sword to Crowley’s throat.  They had won.  They were safe.  All of them.  

Dean dropped his sword there on the battlefield and spun to face Castiel.  Castiel looked back at him wary, still unsure of his reception with Dean.  

But Dean just grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him in, kissing Cas full on the mouth, heedless of the carnage around them.  Castiel was  _here_  with him and alive.  Dean didn’t care what came next as long as those fundamental facts didn’t change. If Gabriel tried to take Cas back with him, he would find Dean Winchester a force more powerful to overcome than the entire demon army.  

Dean’s mind initially froze when he realized Castiel had stilled against him; afraid he had gone too far and his actions were unwelcome.  What if Cas had changed his mind?  What if he  _wanted_  to go back?  Or what if he wanted to stay, but he just wanted things to continue as they had?  

Then the angel was grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in closer, tongue playing at the seam of Dean’s lips as Cas tried to taste as much of Dean as Dean did of him. Fears of Cas wanting something else fled as the angel’s hands threaded their way through Dean’s hair, fusing them together.  Dean tightened his grip, determined to never let go again, even if they did eventually have to part for air.  

From behind him, he heard his brother distinctly mutter, “Finally,” before tuning him out entirely to focus on Cas, an Angel of the Lord, his best friend, and soon to be so much more.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a potential chance this might get expanded...


End file.
